This Time I Mean It
by burning-raindrops
Summary: "I don't care how many times you have to say sorry. Prove to me you mean it." Quinn and Rachel, young and in love, plan a road trip from Ohio to New York before college. What neither of them expected was to have to spend it furious at the other.
1. Prologue, Plans

I had always told myself love was bullshit. A sappy fantasy invented by Hallmark to bring in a few bucks on Valentine's Day or an easy way to get into someone's pants. _The only person you can count on is yourself_, was my go-to motto. That was, until I met Rachel Berry.

She was a force to be reckoned with – driven, powerful, outspoken, stubborn, opinionated, annoying, egotistical, and beautiful. Half of the time I wasn't sure if I liked her or hated her guts. But I had enjoyed that. It kept me on my toes. I never quite knew what to expect with Rachel. And so, slowly but surely, I had fallen in love. And for some crazy, unknown reason she loved me back.

We planned our entire future lives together. Well, Rach planned; I mostly just sat there and nodded. Whatever made her happy made me happy. Yes, I was that whipped. She promised we'd grow old together. But first we would graduate McKinley with a national title under our Glee Club belts and she would be accepted into Julliard, it was her dream school. I would end up at NYU studying journalism, because she knew the only thing I loved more than her was the feeling I got when I was scribbling words furiously across a blank sheet of paper. We'd have our own dorm rooms, but we probably would never sleep alone. What was hers would be mine, she swore to it. We'd spend warm days lazing away in Central Park and colder days huddled up with hot chocolate mugs, sharing a scarf in a quaint city coffee shop. Eventually we would finish college with shiny new degrees and millions of job offers. Once we were rich and (in her case) famous, we'd buy a giant penthouse apartment together. We could get married and adopt children and kiss eachother in the secluded corners of the nursing home we would inevitably end up in.

The one unyielding part of that plan was the trip. _Ah, the famous trip_, my mom, Judy, would sigh exasperatedly every time her daughter and presumed future daughter would bring it up. It was virtually set in stone. Before we went to college, Rachel and I were supposed to hop in my beat up Mustang and drive all the way from Ohio to New York City. We had looked up hotels and interesting tourist stops and what we would eat and how long it would take us and even gas prices practically before junior year started. We reserved rooms a year before we needed to, without even seeking a safety net.

I was young, naïve, and incredibly in love. I truly believed things would go off without a hitch, so I mailed my response to NYU without even glancing at the unopened UCLA acceptance letter that had sat, pitiful, on my desk for weeks. I started packing for our road trip six months in advance, loving the jolt of excitement that coursed through my veins at the prospect of spending a week alone with Rachel. We had spent all of our pooled savings from working at the diner across town and singing duets outside of the mall to ensure the elusive trip would be amazing. Everything would be perfect.

However, what Rachel Berry didn't anticipate in her carefully constructed outline of our future, was that I would break her heart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: First time dabbling in Faberry, just a backstory, let me know whatcha think.**


	2. Rules

"Why aren't you packed yet?"

That high-pitched, shriek-like voice can only mean one person has entered the solitude of Coldplay and Doritos I have been encompassed in for practically a month now – er, make that two. I bury my face in my pillow, hoping to avoid the older, wiser, and more irritating version of me from starting a conversation. She enters my room and plunks down on my bed, tapping incessantly on my shoulder until I look up at her face. Same blonde hair, same hazel eyes, some more lines around the forehead and a slightly larger nose, but basically Frannie Fabray is a carbon copy of me. I shrink away from the light. Someone must have opened the curtains.

"I don't have to pack for another week. Go away."

I look for something to throw at her but decide that's probably not a good idea and put the empty glass back down. Injuries to my sister would only add to the crazy long list of things that are my fault.

"Yes, you do. You're leaving tomorrow. Don't tell me you've forgotten about the road trip."

That gets me to pay attention. I sit up quickly, so quickly that the blood rushes to my head and I feel slightly woozy. How long has it been since I got out of this bed? Once I regain my balance, I place a hand to her forehead.

"Hmmm. You feel a little warm. You must have a fever, Fran. Or a serious case of amnesia. Maybe there's a personality disorder that I never knew about …"

"The only one whose head is messed up is yours, Quinnie-bear. I have watched you mope around here for months. It's got to stop. And I have a plan."

I roll my eyes at that one. Frannie's plans usually end in a fire department visit or someone making a casual trip to the hospital. It's a wonder my mom even let her back in the house. Obviously disgruntled by my lack of encouragement to this evil scheme, she continues.

"I know why you're so upset. It's that Berry girl. You know mom and I don't particularly like her. But we hate to see you so down. So she's agreed with me – you're going on that road trip. And Rachel's coming with you."

"What makes you think she wants to go? I mean, honestly. And how exactly is being alone for seven days with a person who wants to chop my head off going to be beneficial to me? I'll be lucky if I get out of there alive!"

"All part of the plan, sis."

There's a strange sense of foreboding that comes with that statement, but I just roll my eyes again and nod.

"Okay, so here's what you're gonna do…"

* * *

><p>"No!"<p>

"Yes!"

"Fine," I grumble, pulling out my BlackBerry. I look him up in my contacts and press the phone to my ear.

"Hello?"

He sounds confused. I'd be confused if I were him.

"Kurt. Listen, I really need your help."

* * *

><p>"So, let me get this straight. You want me to convince the lioness that is Rachel Berry to spend a week alone with you; her last week before college – mind you, she probably wants to be with her dads - even though she hates your guts? And you expect me to remain unscathed? I can imagine the mauling of that new Burberry coat right now…"<p>

"Please, Kurt."

I look at him with the saddest expression I can muster. It's not hard since I'm pretty much already there. He raises an eyebrow and cocks his hip to the side, unimpressed. He's left me no choice.

"You owe me."

His eyebrow is raised in an oh-no-you-wouldn't kind of way and I resist the urge to smirk. It's not my fault he and his hobbit boytoy can't resist the urge to do it in plain view of the entire school. They couldn't have possibly thought the dumpsters would hide everything. Lord knows if Burt Hummel ever found out about that…

"You're still a manipulative bitch. Love has softened you in many ways, but not this one, m'dear. Fine, I'll talk to her, but I can't make any promises."

I grin for the first time in weeks and lean over to hug him.

"You smell homeless, Quinn. I'm not letting my Chanel touch your grime. You're welcome, though."

I know that Kurt will pull through, because, yeah, he's pretty great at this sort of thing. It doesn't hurt that Rachel's in love with him and their apparent shared sense of 'gaydar'. I also smile a little more because maybe I'm still the HBIC. I'm still Quinn, no matter how many stupid things I've done. I just have to hope that Rach will see that too. Maybe I should shower first.

* * *

><p>"I don't want to be here anymore than you do, Quinn. So let's set down some ground rules before we hit the road, and maybe this will only be a little bit painful."<p>

I can vividly imagine the expression on her face, even though she's sitting in the driver's seat, out of my view as I place the last of her suitcases in the trunk. Her eyes are probably closed, nose scrunched up in anger, a scowl on her face. I had always laughed at how adorable that particular look on her was in the past. Of course, it had never been directed towards me.

Despite the little voice in my head that yearns to scream, _I do want to be with you! Right now, next week, forever! This is only painful for me because I can't just pull you over and kiss the hell out of you! Please let me explain!,_ I press my lips together firmly and nod. Not that she can see me nod, I muse as I sit down in the passenger seat, but apparently my lack of protest is all the invitation she needs.

"Okay, first off: we don't speak unless necessary. I mean it, nothing about high school or college or even if we pass the world's largest rubber band ball, no conversation will be needed. Got it?"

I nod mutely again because, really, what else can I do? Not talking to her for seven whole days seems like torture, but I've been doing it for two months. I can manage. Rachel doesn't seem satisfied, though, so I zip my lips with an invisible key and chuck it out the window. She's hiding a smirk, I can tell. God, I know her too well.

"Secondly: the bed situation. We will request a cot or something if we only have one bed in the room we're staying at. If that's not available, we will take turns alternating on the floor. Got it?"

I figure it's best to just keep nodding at this point. I definitely don't think about the countless nights she spent sleeping in my arms, the feeling her silky hair against my chin as I kissed her forehead….

"Got it?"

Snapping back to reality, I realize we haven't even left the driveway yet. Getting Rachel Berry started on a rant was never a good thing. I must have missed point number three, so I give her an exaggerated thumbs-up. Once upon a time, that would have made her burst with laughter. Now, I only see her lips pressed together in irritation, her chocolate brown eyes betraying a ghost of sadness.

"I know you're not listening to me Quinn. Whatever. I wouldn't expect you to anyways."

She mumbles the last part so softly I'm sure I'm not supposed to hear it. But I do. I motion my hands in a way that means for her to continue. I'm not sure if our silent telepathic conversations are still possible, but I guess she gets the gist.

"Last rule: we do not discuss _the thing_. I don't want to hear any apologies. Believe me, I've heard enough. I just want to get to Julliard alive and forget this whole thing."

I realize a second too late that when she says that, she means that she wants to forget _me_. Tears prickle my eyes but I do not let them betray my calm façade. Ah, yes, _the thing_. Aka the time where I royally fucked up the only good thing to ever happen to me. What she doesn't understand is that I fully intend to bug her with every single apology I can speak of until she listens. Until she believes me. The pessimistic voice in my head screams, _yeah, fat chance. How many texts and calls has she ignored? It's useless_. I press a finger to my forehead as she grabs the wheel and pulls out of the driveway, leaving Lima behind for good. That pessimistic voice decides to pipe up again - _maybe leaving us behind for good as well._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Two years ago.<em>**

_"The Berry-Fabray rules of friendship!" I grin widely as I plunk down next to Rachel on the surprisingly cool grass. It's hot and sunny and cheerful as all lazy summer afternoons should be. But the thing that's really making my day is the girl sitting next to me. My smile grows wider as I hold up the piece of paper that has my mock-calligraphy scrawled from bottom to top. This is Rachel's idea, but I go with it anyways. Whatever makes her happy. That's what a good friend should do…right?_

_ "Decree number one! Thou shalt not slushie the best friend at any point, no matter how much their little Cheerio buddies are egging them on!" she yells happily, tearing the large scroll of paper from my grasp and giggling a little. "Cough. Quinnifer, that means you. Cough."_

_ "Shut up, you already got your payback for that!"_

_ I smile fondly as I recall the last Glee Club practice of Junior year. Oh, yes, she got me back alright. Let's just say I'm never slushie-ing anyone ever again. It feels like getting bitch slapped by an ice berg or something equally unpleasant._

_ "Decree number two!" I say, trying to mimic her enthusiasm but failing. Rachel Berry was a star that shined brighter than anyone within five miles of her, and I was no exception to the dimming effect she had on people. "Thou shalt not wear a reindeer sweater to school. It's tacky and one best friend may be embarrassed to be seen in public with the aforementioned best friend."_

_ I grin as I take a smack to the head. Yeah, I deserved that. It doesn't matter though. Just the fact that she's touching me sends a thrill through my spine._

_ "Decree number three! Thou shalt not date any of the blacklist boys! Boys in question include Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman. Failure to comply with this decree will result in a brutal cold shoulder to the best friend in question."_

_ We both nod appreciatively at that one. There's no way I'm ever going near Finn the Lima Loser or Puck the Impregnator again. Of course, Rachel doesn't need to know exactly why I don't plan on dating really anyone else in the future. I already know who I want._

_ "Decree number four! The final decree until some blonde-haired lazy ass best friend decides to write another one! No matter what happens, we'll always be there for eachother. Sickness and health, till death do us part, no matter what anyone else tries to tell us. Together forever."_

_ "Hey! I'm not lazy! You're just an overachiever."_

_ I can't keep the smile off my face for long. This girl has no idea how much pull she has over my emotions._

_ As we lock pinkies in a very Brittany and Santana-esque manner, I find myself wondering when the line between mortal enemies and friends forever got blurred. And then I realize that, surprisingly, I really don't care._

* * *

><p>I place my hand on my temple, shaking myself back to the present day. We've already hit the highway, cruising at a speed too fast for comfort. Rachel has always been a crazy driver. I groan quietly and lean back against the worn upholstery, memories of everything that happened between us crashing down upon me like a wave as I smell the faint scent of her perfume and hear her humming Barbra under her breath, her grip on the wheel never faltering. I wonder if she still knows she's my soul mate. I wonder if she realizes I want to break every single rule she's given me and wrap her in my arms and never let go. I wonder, but I'll probably never get the answers. So I just close my eyes and bet on this being an extremely interesting experience.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I scrapped this chapter and rewrote it so many times it isn't even funny. A lot of Adele is being used in the writing process. And I love Kurt so much I just had to give him a cameo.**

**Reviews/thoughts are definitely appreciated :D.**


	3. The Storm

_Six Months Ago._

"_Leave me alone!"_

"_I don't think I will. You have something I want. She's mine. And I'm getting her back."_

_He gives me a sick, twisted sort of smile. I flinch internally. Who does this kid think he is?_

"_She's not interested. I would know. Since, you know, I'm pretty sure you're not a girl. Wait, hmm, maybe I'm wrong about tha-"_

"_Watch your mouth, Fabray. She'll leave you, you'll see. There's no way Rachel Berry's gay. And I'm going to help her figure out what a sorry lapse in judgment you were. After all, I'm all she's ever wanted. We know I'll be the one to end up with her. You're just an experiment, nothing more. In fact, I'd watch your back at prom. Who knows who'll drag her off to a dark corner…"_

"_LEAVE!"_

_At this point I'm hysterical, sick to my stomach even. The walls are starting to shake and my eyes are threatening to betray me with tears. He can't know that he's scaring me, that he's voicing all of my worst fears. I can't even admit that to myself._

"_As you wish, Queen Q. Have a good day, alright?"_

_He walks away slowly, almost sadistically. As soon as I know he's out of sight, I sink to the ground, propping my head against a nearby locker. I grudgingly allow a few drops to fall down my cheeks, and mentally spew all of the curses I can think of at that asshole, hopefully giving him the message through my frantic brainwaves._

* * *

><p><em>In hindsight, I can't blame the whole thing on that one conversation. Doubts had been spewing from secluded corners of my mind for weeks previous, every time a guy would look too far below her eyes or send a wolf whistle her way. Maybe I should've talked to her. She would've understood. But it's too late for that now.<em>

* * *

><p>"Am I allowed to talk yet?" I quip after three long hours of silence. Really, I thought I'd be able to keep my mouth shut, but having her sit so close to me that I can feel her body heat radiating onto my skin isn't good for my willpower. I'll even take a scathing remark if it gets Rachel to open those beautiful lips of hers.<p>

"Nope," She pops the p that stills the air with a bang of finality.

I cross my arms over my chest, frustrated. Okay, I admit it to myself. I'm losing hope. Spending hours and hours in a confined space with someone you love with your entire being and is in turn furious at you is hard. Harder than I expected. The quiet stabs me like a knife.

I need noise, distractions.

Right, the radio. _Good idea, Quinn._ I pat myself on the back internally.

_Wait, no, arm, don't actually…_

Too late. I've already put my hand on my shoulder, subconsciously. Rachel notices the movement, because, of course, she's "extremely perceptive". I scowl as her expression turns slightly amused and spin the radio dial on the dashboard. _Way to go, Quinn. Now she thinks you belong in a mental institute. Well, I mean, she probably thought that already…_

A Katy Perry song blares from the stereo. I grimace. I'm really not in the mood for hearing how smashed everyone got at some party last week. Maybe I'm just huffy because I haven't touched alcohol since _the thing_. I turn the knob to the oldies station that I wouldn't dare listen to in anyone's presence but Rachel's and grin as the familiar first few bars of instrumental blast through the speakers. My grin has broken the grin scale, possibly moving onto a full on smile, as I see Rachel's lips curve upward slightly. The only Beatles song she ever tolerated couldn't have picked a better moment to play. I cheer internally and realize I should probably start singing along now because, yeah, there are perfect words within the lyrics that I don't have the courage or the conviction to say to her myself right now.

_"OH YEAH I'LL, TELL YOU SOMETHING. I THINK YOU'LL UNDERSTAND."_

I'm screaming and probably butchering everything those four famous virtuosos ever worked for but I honestly don't care at the moment because Rachel's seconds away from betraying a hint of affection. I'd give anything to make her smile, a real smile, the smile she saves just for me.

_"WHEN I, SAY THAT SOMETHING. I WANNA HOLD YOUR HAAAAAAAAAND!"_

I try to grab her wrist and she motions towards the road in a _knock-it-out-unless-you-want-me-to-crash-your-Mustang_ sort of way, even though she's trying her hardest not to laugh at my antics. But I'm determined, and so I put on my best puppy dog expression and continue singing-er, yelling.

_"I WANNA HOLD YOUR HAAAAAND. I WANNA HOLD YOUR HAND."_

I flip my hands around uselessly, grasping the air for another palm to enclose mine, and change my expression into a more pitiful one every time I realize she's still gripping the wheel. I know she's close to cracking though, so I smirk and continue on.

_"OH PLEEEASE, SAY TO MEEEEE. YOU'LL LET ME BE YOUR MAAAAN."_

At this I put a finger over my lip, as if I have a mustache. Finally, Rachel can't control her laughter anymore, and bursts into a fit of giggles. I almost cry from the happiness engulfing me like a warm, unfamiliar blanket – I would act like a fool for eternity to get her to smile like that for five minutes. She seems to realize where she is though, or rather, who she's with, and presses her lips into a hard line, glaring in my direction. Her knuckles are white, she must be hanging onto the steering wheel for dear life. After an unfamiliar tune plays for a few seconds, the music becomes static-y, and I turn the radio off. The silence is like a jolt to my system, but I see a ghost of a grin radiating in her bottomless chocolate brown eyes, and I know there's hope. At least, for now.

* * *

><p>"We should stop for dinner."<p>

We've been trapped in a semi-peaceful, semi-awkward silence for a long time since the radio incident. Neither of us are quite sure of what to say or how to act, and we've almost crossed the Ohio/West Virginia border, so I figure it's time to voice the words my rumbling stomach's been trying to for hours.

"Sure."

She almost smiles, and I count my blessings that she's not a glowering or a reprimanding me for speaking out of turn. We cruise at a leisurely pace for a few minutes until we spot the next exit. The town looks a bit dingy from what I can see, and the most I'm guessing is here is a McDonalds, but I allow her to drive off the parkway just the same. It's getting really dark out, and neither of us want to travel too late, especially on an empty stomach. We've been driving for miles and I'm getting anxious. I look for the telltale signs of the yellow arches, but, finally, spot something else instead.

Neon pink and green lights temporarily blind my vision. I hadn't realized the sky had turned pitch black until I see the contrast of the lights to the horizon. Which is crazy, because it's barely five o'clock. I squint and read the writing on the bright sign.

_Bunker Family Diner_

A diner's probably as good as we're going to get around this place, and it's not like there's many ways you can mess up a burger, so I tap her on the shoulder.

"Rach, we should stop here."

Rachel nods in agreement, and pulls into the slightly dilapidated parking lot. We enter the neon-encrusted building, not sure what to expect. I brace myself for biker thugs, a bar, and maybe a hooker or two. What I see once I'm through the door shocks me so much I almost trip over my own feet.

At least fifteen people, none under the age of forty, are conversing loudly to each other through red vinyl booths. The diner is decked out like it's from the fifties, complete with a jukebox and a laminate counter and everything. There are only two waiters, a grey haired man balancing a tray full of salads on his head to the amusement of the customers; and a red haired, beautiful woman, probably thirty or so years younger than the man. I see her rolling her eyes and muttering under her breath while she scribbles furiously on a pad. We stand there for a few seconds in the doorway without being noticed, until a distinctly southern voice calls out from what I assume is the kitchen.

"Barny, ya old coot, we've got guests, stop that racket! Millie, sweetie pie, show 'em to a booth! Can't have those youngsters starve, now could we? Not with the storm comin' in!"

The redhead who I guess to be Millie nods at once, notices Rachel and I standing hesitantly by the door, and gestures us over to a table. The grey haired man skillfully balances his trays on one finger while throwing two menus our way. I catch them, but barely, and, deciding to join in on the fun, toss one Rachel's way, giggling as it nearly smacks her in the face. I'm almost positive that man's Barny. He winks at me from across the room. I wink back, and Barny exposes a toothy (well, mostly toothless) grin. I decide I like him as he places the trays down on a nearby counter and walks towards us.

"I'll take 'em, Mill. You go on with the regular folk, make sure Ol' Hopkins doesn't cause a scene again."

Millie huffs and rolls her eyes again. I deduce she's not really friendly. People with attitudes who aren't Santana bother me. I look over to Rachel across the table and see the same look of disbelief at Millie's evident rudeness mirrored in her expression. It comforts me to know that we can at least agree on something.

"You'll have to excuse us, dears. See, we usually don't get strangers comin' on into Rockhill. Lonely place, it is here. Location's not too good for much'a anythin'. We only came up here from ol' Kentucky cause poor ol' Bob's gotten ill- Oh! I'm so used to talkin' to the regular crowd I didn' even think y'all couldn't care less about poor ol' Barmy Barny. What can I getcha gorgeous girls?"

I blush at the compliment and can't conceal a smile. I don't usually warm up to new people, but this place feels cozy and warm and almost like home. That's crazy because I've only been here for five minutes, but I can't quash the feeling in my chest. I clear my throat and decide to order before I get all sentimental or something.

"Uh, can I have a diet Coke and a, uh, hamburger? With fries?"

I know Rachel's going to disapprove of the whole meat thing, but my stomach is growling in protest too much for me to even consider changing my order.

"I'll have a Greek salad, please. No feta cheese, no dressing. And maybe a water if it's not to much trouble for you."

She smiles and hands him her menu. I snort too loudly for her to not notice. When she gives me the look that signals I'm in big trouble, I shrug helplessly.

"The cheese and the dressing are the whole point!" I'm too loud for normal restaurant conversing but no one seems to mind. "Without them…it's not a Greek salad, it's just a salad!"

Just as I'm hoping she's not too mad and considering that I probably severely fucked up all the progress I'd made today, Barny starts cackling. I jump, having forgotten he was even there.

"You sound just like me and Elly back in the day. Ah, crazy kids. I'll be back with your drinks, girls."

He dances away to the beat of a song that's not playing and I can't help but smile. Whatever this place is, it's definitely better than Lima.

A loud clap of thunder booms and I jolt from my thoughts, sparing a glance at Rachel. She looks composed, but I know better. Storms freak her out. As rain starts audibly pelting the roof and the occupants of Bunker's Family Diner groan, I realize we may have to stay in Rockhill, Ohio longer than we planned.

* * *

><p>"So what brings ya-" <strong>BANG<strong> "here today?"

I twirl my fry around in the pool of ketchup I've created and shrug, trying to resist the urge to put my arm around Rachel. She's abandoned all thoughts of food, curled up in a little ball, laying on the red vinyl booth with her hood pulled over the face. I see her shiver and squirm in my seat.

"We're driving to college. Thought we'd grab something to eat before it got too dark. I didn't know there was going to be a storm, though."

"Yeah, well, they sneak up on ya, these her' storms. It's not unusual to get a funnel cloud, so just be aware, alright?"

At this Rachel actually squeaks and hides further under the booth. **BANG**. I sigh and decide to let go of my minimal willpower and sit next to her. I hold her hand under the table as a friendly gesture of comfort, but she flinches at the contact. Oh. Right. I'm not supposed to touch her. Got it.

"Rach is a little shaken, sorry, Barny. I think we're gonna to have to get going to make it to our hotel in time. Check please?"

I smile a little weakly as I glance out the window. It's like the sky turned into a bottomless, fathomless black hole with a broken floodgate. There's a sheet of water, droplets pelting the building at a mile a minute. **BANG.** This might be difficult to drive in. I obviously have to do it, Rachel absolutely cannot operate machinery in her shaking, sniveling condition. I hate that she's so cute when she's scared.

"Nonsense, nonsense! I don't want you lovely youngins driving in a tropical weather alert! That's dangerous! Tell ya what, I'll give you a room. No charge, of course not."

"Barny, we could-"

**BANG. **The loudest clap yet. If possible, the rain pours harder.

I take one look at Rachel and sigh. Even when she's not trying to get her way, she always gets her way. I slouch in defeat.

"I appreciate it, thank you. We'll obviously pay, though. Er, where's the hotel?"

"Here, o' course! _Bunker's Family Diner and Bed & Breakfast_! Didn't ya see the sign?"

I was never a thorough reader. Rach had the brains in this relationship.

"Right. I guess I'll just get our stu-"

**BANG.**

"Nonsense, nonsense! It's so wet out there!"

Barny waves over Millie and I cringe as I anticipate what he might do.

"Millie! Dear, why dont'cha get these girls their belongings? They're staying with us tonight! Aint that great!"

Millie's glare is so sharp that Rachel abandons her no contact rule and grabs my arm.

**BANG.**

"It's fine I can get i-"

"Nonsense, nonsense!"

I timidly hand over the car keys. Millie huffs. Rachel shrinks.

**BANG.**

Great.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry for the lack of update! I lost power during the hurricane and just had too much going on :(._

_Every time I get a review or story alert or favorite as an email it makes my day SO MUCH brighter. Thank you! Tackle hugs!_

_As always, your feedback is very much appreciated! Especially with what you want to see happen, sometimes my brain doesn't have ideas as quickly as my fingers type. Does that make sense?_

_ALSO. I'M __SUPER DUPER EXCITED FOR GLEE SEASON 3. WHO ELSE IS SUPER DUPER EXCITED? MEEEEEEE._


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